


Mister Moonday

by ConsidertheLily (orphan_account)



Series: Kinks of the Kingdom [1]
Category: Keys to the Kingdom - Garth Nix
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Attempt at Humor, Begging, Bestiality, Bottom Arthur Penhaligon, Butt Plugs, Butt Slapping, Casual Sex, Cuddling & Snuggling, Deepthroating, Dildos, Dirty Talk, Dom/sub, Dominance, Double Anal Penetration, Double Oral Penetration, Dubious Consent, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, Extremely Dubious Consent, Face Slapping, Face-Fucking, Family, Fingerfucking, Groping, High School, Homophobic Language, Humor, Id Fic, Illnesses, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Underage Sex, In Public, Interspecies Relationship(s), Kissing, Large Cock, M/M, Magic, Male Leaf, Male Slash, Masturbation, Mention of Extreme Underage, Minor Original Character(s), Multi, No idea what I'm doing, Not Beta Read, Not Dark, Nudity, Nymphomania, Oral Sex, Other, Past Underage Sex, Porn, Porn Parody, Promiscuity, Pseudo-Incest, Public Sex, Rape/Non-con Elements, Relationship(s), Rough Oral Sex, Rough Sex, Roughness, Semi-Public Sex, Sex Toys, Sexual Content, Sexual Fantasy, Sexual Humor, Size Difference, Size Kink, Slapping, Slash, Smut, Spitroasting, Spoilers, Submission, Supernatural Elements, Teasing, Threesome - M/M/M, Underage Sex, Unsafe Sex, Verbal Humiliation, Violence, Violent Sex, since it's just a pornification of the original plot, truly horrific sexual puns
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-14
Updated: 2018-01-28
Packaged: 2019-03-04 16:24:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 3
Words: 13,364
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13368585
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/ConsidertheLily
Summary: First book of 'Kinks of the Kingdom', a Keys to the Kingdom Porn Parody, detailing the Beginning of the Amatory Adventures of Arthur Penishankering the Insatiable Cockslut





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So basically, this is a pornified version of the Keys to the Kingdom by Garth Nix (who I sincerely hope never, ever sees this), a series I greatly enjoyed as a child, but which conspicuously lacks sex (or romance) of any kind. Think of this, if you will, as a rectification of that lamentable absence. The plot will be fundamentally the same as the original books (though I’m afraid the actual plot side of things will be largely neglected in favour of ridiculously over the top porn), with the key difference that Arthur Penishankering is a cock-crazy boyslut. I’ve also changed some of the female characters into men, for the sake of maximum pr0n.
> 
> Inspired by [DocSpleen's](http://archiveofourown.org/users/DocSpleen/pseuds/DocSpleen) magnificently filthy (though tragically unfinished) [The Depravity of Harry Potter](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3489824).
> 
> ~
> 
> Tagged for Underage because Arthur is a (albeit very precocious) twelve-year-old, and Noncon/Dubcon because the sexual situations are pretty rapey, even though Arthur will enthusiastically screw anything with a dick. It’s more that the characters wouldn’t stop if he wanted them to (which he definitely doesn’t).
> 
> Warning for themes of **extreme** domination and submission, including highly sexualised violence. It should go without saying the acts/behaviour depicted here is not remotely safe or healthy, and naturally I do not condone, endorse or approve any of it. Fantasy is one thing, but real life is another, and there is NO excuse for having sexual contact of any kind with a child/teenager. 
> 
> This fic, on the other hand, is pure, depraved, utterly fucked-up, fantasy. 
> 
> Basically, if this doesn’t sound like your cup of tea, **please don’t read any further.**
> 
> Despite the above, this is not a dark work at all (or at least not intended to be), nor does it take itself too seriously. 
> 
> ~
> 
> Finally: this is my **first time** writing fanfiction, and my first time posting anything online, and I really have no idea what I’m doing. Thus (friendly) advice/tips/criticism is more than welcome.

The first day at his new school was not going well for Arthur Penhaligon, or, as he was known informally, ‘Arthur Penishankering’.  The nickname had been bestowed by the boys at Arthur’s old school, when they first laid eyes on the small, effeminate child who was to be their new classmate.  And indeed, who could blame them?  For they saw, with the instinctual perception of youth, that this slender thing was a creature utterly unlike them.

Arthur’s silky hair was a glistening jet-black, falling around his ears with a slight curl at the tips.  His face was heart-shaped, and positively cherubic in its innocence.  Cheeks, darkened with a perpetual blush; two liquid-blue eyes, wide and guileless, framed by girlishly long lashes and set above a cute button nose and luscious pink mouth.  It was a face crying out to be defiled, to be drenched with pungent male seed.

Where they reeked of body odour and too much cheap deodorant, Arthur’s pores seemed to exude a naturally sweet aroma of vanilla and cinnamon, laced with a tangy undertone of semen.  His scent alone was enough to drive males mad with lust (and not just male humans, Arthur had discovered.  More than once he had been forced to run home, pursued by a canine—or several, the animal panting excitedly, hard doggy-dick waggling under its belly).

While other adolescents were just beginning to grapple with razors, Arthur’s face and body remained as satin-smooth as the day he was born.  His creamy skin was lightly dusted with freckles, where theirs was pitted with acne.  And whereas most boys his age tended either to thin and gangly, or chubby and lumbering, Arthur was a perfectly-proportioned balance of willowy slenderness, and plump, mouth-watering curves.  Standing exactly five inches above four feet, his chest and shoulders were narrow, while his legs were long and slim, tapering down from wide, womanish hips— and the most phenomenal arse ever seen. 

Poems could have (and probably had) been written about Arthur’s arse.  It—two beautiful round globes, slightly elongated, and taut enough to bounce a penny off, concealing a tiny rose-pink pucker that just _begged_ to be penetrated— was by rights too large for his slight frame.  But rather than looking odd, Arthur’s ample posterior was absolutely mesmerising.  Arthur knew that everywhere he walked, whether down a street or a school corridor, the eyes of every male in a ten-foot radius would be glued to his backside.  And if he were, by chance, to drop something, and bend over to retrieve it— pert bottom wiggling enticingly—why, it was all they could do to restrain themselves from ripping his pants off and mounting him then and there. 

Finally, nestled between his creamy thighs, was the prettiest, most adorable little cocklet you’ve ever seen— so tiny, and so feminine, it barely deserved to be called a penis at all.

And do you know, dear reader, although the name was meant cruelly, Arthur didn’t mind it in the slightest.  For, after all, it was perfectly accurate.  Arthur did hanker for penis.  In fact, despite his tender years, Arthur Penhaligon was probably the biggest, most insatiable slut ever born.  No, Arthur ‘Penishankering’ didn’t resent the epithet— _he revelled in it._  

And, fortunately for Arthur, his good looks, submissive charm and willingness to bend over for literally anyone, had won him no end of goodwill among the sexually frustrated students and staff of Briarthorn Boy’s College.  Indeed, by the time he left, it would have been no exaggeration to call him the most popular boy in school.  He was sorely missed after his departure.  Arthur knew _that_ from the many dick-pics, wank-vids and absolutely _filthy_ messages he still received from his former classmates, which he feverishly jerked off to.

Rather _unfortunately_ , moving to a new town meant his whorish reputation was nascent, if not non-existent.  No doubt Eric, Arthur’s older brother, who had transferred to the same school, but was several years above him, would start regaling his mates on the basketball team with vivid descriptions of his little bro’s impossibly tight arse and lack of gag reflex.  But even so, notoriety as a ravenous dick-muncher took a while to establish, and the males of this school would not yet know, when they looked at Arthur, that the petite, pretty boy in front of them wanted nothing more than to fulfil their most depraved fantasies of rough-fucking and sexual domination.  Arthur would have to change that.

 

For now, however, Arthur had a different problem.  Unbeknownst to him or his parents, the seventh grade had a cross-country run every Monday—today.  And it was compulsory, unless the pupil’s parents had made special arrangements—in advance.

Arthur explained to the gym teacher that he suffered from a serious medical condition called Nymphomania Extremis.  This condition meant that Arthur, if over-exposed to sexual stimulus, could go into a delirious, cock-craving fit, desperately needing to be filled with dick and sperm.  If this acute craving wasn’t met, Arthur could suffer permanent mental and physiological damage, and even die.  As a matter of fact, only a few weeks ago, he’d had a really severe nymph-out at his old school, dashing out onto the football pitch in the middle of a game, where he’d been drilled by both teams and half the spectators (including a few teachers).  He’d spent over a week in hospital, continuously plugged either by the dick of a willing nurse, or a dildo, until the cock-fever abated.  For this reason, he was strictly forbidden from engaging in strenuous physical activity of any kind (which he imagined included sex, though Arthur had no intention of giving _that_ up), since any sort of over-stimulation could be dangerous.

Or at least, that’s what Arthur _tried_ to explain.  From the moment the teacher, Mr Weightman, had laid eyes on the boy—taking in small, delicate hands tugging anxiously on an oversized shirt, and large, vulnerable eyes peering up from under dark bangs—he had been swamped by a wave of lust.  For his part, feeling a mixture of nervousness and need under the man’s hungry gaze, Arthur became a stammering mess.

So, as it transpired, only the bit about needing cock got through to the entranced gym teacher, and he took it as an invitation to pull the boy close and grope him enthusiastically, further reducing Arthur’s explanation to incoherent spluttering (and unintentionally priming him for a fuck-fit).  Girly voice rising to an even higher pitch as the man slid a hand down the back of Arthur’s pants, the boy reiterated that he was incapable of participating on medical grounds.  Besides, he squeaked, as his tight pucker was invaded by a thick digit, he couldn’t run in the dismally un-sexy school uniform of leather shoes, grey trousers, and white shirt and tie.  At his old school he’d worn shorts, which were much better for running, not to mention far more flattering to Arthur’s preteen behind.

For some reason—perhaps the forty other screaming kids, or perhaps the supple warmth of Arthur’s hole around his questing finger—Mr. Weightman only registered the second part of Arthur’s complaint.

‘Settle down!’ he barked at the riotous children.  ‘Subhan, let go of Tanner’s crotch, right now!’

Turning back to Arthur, he bellowed in the boy’s face.

‘ _You brainless bimbo!  You’ll run in whatever the fuck I tell you, and if I hear another peep about your fucking uniform, I’ll rip the bloody thing off and make you run naked!_ ’

With that, he yanked his finger out roughly, and despatched Arthur with a slap to his rump.

And so, Arthur had no choice but to run, puffing and sweating and round arse-cheeks jiggling.

As if Mr. Weightman’s fingering hadn’t been bad enough, being around a lot of sweaty schoolboys—inhaling the testosterone-ripened air, made Arthur light-headed.  Several of the athletic boys smacked Arthur’s bobbing rear as they overtook him, while the slower ones behind him made ribald catcalls—all of which only heightened the cockslut’s ardour. 

Just for reassurance, Arthur felt in his pocket for his butt-plug, closing his fingers around the cool plastic.  He didn’t really want to use it—plastic was no substitute for the taste, texture and smell of warm, pulsing man-flesh.  But last time he’d ended up hospitalised because of his reluctance to use the butt-plug, and he’d promised his parents it wouldn't happen again.

Weightman jogged past, his visibly distended hard-on bouncing up and down in his gym shorts. 

‘Pick up those feet, sissyboy!’ he shouted at Arthur.  ‘Don’t think you’ll be whoring your way to a passing grade!’

The nearby students sniggered.  Humiliated, yet aroused, Arthur could feel the cock-fever building inside him as he continued to trot along.  After a short while he was panting heavily, and his mind felt clouded, as if his head was stuffed with cotton wool.  He could barely see straight.  When the boy raised a hand to his flushed, sweat-streaked face, he was visibly trembling with want.  Desperate, and no longer caring what the school, his parents, or anyone else thought, he looked around for a boy, any boy, who might do something to assuage his torment.  But even the slower students had long since passed Arthur by at this point.  All he could do was stagger after them, and hope someone had stopped for a break or something.

By the time Arthur reached the edge of the dense forest that bordered the field, his hole was fluttering open and shut, and his teensy dicklet was standing ramrod straight.  He felt the burning sensation in his arsehole that signalled an oncoming slut-seizure. 

Arthur’s legs gave out, and he collapsed into the grass, shivering, as the dick-delirium took hold.  His vision swam, and then darkened.

 

# ☞⦾☜

 

When he came to, there were figures leaning over him.  Two boys, wearing identical t-shirts featuring pornstars Arthur hadn’t heard of, sunglasses, and tight black jeans, which showcased surprisingly large crotch-mounds.  Incongruously large, even, given the boys’ lanky builds.  They were twins, as alike in appearance as in dress, save that one had short hair, dyed-black, and the other had long hair, dyed white-blonde.  Arthur dimly remembered seeing them at the forefront of the runners—they’d both slapped him as they ran past, one on each buttock.  They must have already completed a lap, and come across Arthur on their second time round.

‘Are you all right?’ a voice—the short-haired one—asked.

 _No!_ the lust-crazed part of Arthur’s brain shrieked, fixated on the boys’ bulges. _I’m so empty—it hurts so bad …please, fill me with your fat dicks!_

 _The butt-plug, get the butt-plug!_ a smaller, saner part of Arthur’s mind thought urgently.  He fumbled in his pocket for the toy, but his shaking hand found nothing.  The butt-plug was gone!  Exhausted, he ceased struggling, and let himself be swallowed up by the storm of desire.

‘Hold on,’ the blonde one said, ‘he must be having some sort of seizure.  We’d better get someone to call an ambulance.’

 _No_!  Arthur wanted to scream.   _Cock!  I need cock!  Get your dicks out and fuck me, for Christ’s sake!_ But all that came out was a long, keening moan. 

'Quick!' the other twin said.  ‘You run back to the gym while I go after Wankman.’  With that, the pair bounded away, leaving Arthur lying gasping on the ground, unsated and hysterical. 

 _No!_ Arthur howled internally.   _Don’t leave me empty.  Please, come back!_

Distraught, he flopped around in the grass, until his hand landed on a small object.  The butt-plug!  With a sob of relief, he clumsily scrabbled his trousers down (Arthur never wore underwear), and jammed the cool plastic into his inflamed anus.

It didn’t banish the fever—Arthur was too far gone for that—but just having something in his arse soothed the ache, and lessened the tremors of need.  His mind and vision cleared somewhat, he gingerly propped himself up on his elbows.

Then he stared in shock, plush lips dropping open like he’d heard a fly being unzipped.

Hovering over the grass, only a few yards away from Arthur, was a brilliant white light.  As it glided nearer, a dark outline materialised in its centre.  Gradually, the light faded, revealing a bizarrely-dressed man, pushing a weird wheelchair-like contraption, in which reclined another, equally strange-looking individual.  The outlandish wheelchair, shaped like a bath and made of wicker, rolled forward on three tyre-less metal wheels. 

The man pushing the bath-chair was kitted-out like a less tidy version of the butler from Downton Abbey—dusty black coat with long tails that brushed the ground as he walked, and an off-white shirtfront that looked stiff as cardboard.  The man lying down was wearing a pink silk bath-robe, decorated with intricate golden patterns that to Arthur looked vaguely phallic (though that might just have been his dick-mania).  The garment, though beautiful, was a rather abbreviated affair, displaying a lean, hairless chest, and long, lissom legs. 

Arthur decided he must be seeing things.  Hallucinations weren’t uncommon during his nymph-fits, though usually he just imagined hard, leaking erections.  Still, Arthur couldn’t help thinking these men looked unsettlingly corporeal.

They moved closer, and their faces came into sharper focus.

Arthur saw that the reclining man was young, no older than twenty, and breathtakingly handsome—or, no, Arthur corrected himself—breathtakingly _pretty._ In fact, Arthur could tell straight away this man was a cocksucker.  The man had delicate, symmetrical features, not too dissimilar from Arthur’s own— but more than that, his general mien was impressed with a certain sensual decadence that screamed pathic. 

The second thing Arthur realised was that this man was tired.  His flaxen hair flopped limply over a pallid forehead, and his cerulean eyes, lighter than Arthur’s deep indigo, were hooded, and rimmed with dark circles.  Every listless motion spoke of bone-deep weariness.

The attendant couldn’t have made for a sharper contrast.  He was elderly—white hair, fingernails long and yellowing, skin lined and liver-spotted—yet for all that seemed surprisingly energetic, pushing the chair straight toward Arthur at a brisk pace.

‘I don’t know why I keep you upstairs, Sneezer’, the man in the bath-chair said, in a posh drawl that was simultaneously bored and contemptuous.  ‘Or agree to these bloody ridiculous plans of yours.’

‘Now, sir,’ said 'Sneezer', ‘think of it, not as a plan, but a precaution.  We don’t want the Will bothering us, do we sir?’

‘Oh, hang the Will!’ said the young man irritably.  ‘And hang you Sneezer, for dragging me out of my bed on this fool’s errand.’  He yawned widely, and subsided, his long-lashed eyelids falling shut.  He seemed to be shifting up and down in an odd fashion, and his cheeks were flushed.  After a while, he opened his eyes again and asked, ‘Are you quite sure we’ll find someone suitable here?’

‘Sure as boys love buggery, sir', replied Sneezer.  ‘Surer even, some boys needing a bit of persuading-like.  I set the dials meself, to find someone suitably on the edge of eternity.  You give ‘im the Key, he dies, you get it back.  Another ten thousand years without trouble, and the Will can’t quibble cos you _did_ give up the Key to one in the line of heredity, as it were.’

‘It’s very annoying’, the youth said, yawning again.  ‘I’m quite exhausted with all this running around and answering these inane inquiries from up top.  How the deuce should I know how that bit of the Will got out?  I’ll be damned if I’m writing a report, you know.  I haven’t the energy.’

‘In fact,’ he continued, moving up and down slightly more vigorously, his breaths becoming louder, and faster, ‘I could really do with a nap— ‘

‘Not now, sir, not now’, Sneezer interrupted in an urgent tone.  Shading his eyes with a dirty hand, he peered around, seeming unable to see Arthur, despite being right in front of him.  ‘We’re almost there.’

‘We are there’, the young man replied coldly.  He looked at Arthur as if the boy had only just appeared, and pointed with an effete, limp-wristed gesture.  'Is _that_ it?’ he asked, voice dripping with disdain.

‘Ah!’ said Sneezer, letting go the bath-chair and walking towards Arthur.  As he advanced, Arthur noticed that dangling out the front of his breeches was a wrinkly appendage that looked even grimier than the rest of the man.

 _A cock!_  Arthur thought with delight.  Surely this Sneezer would fuck him!  In his frantic state, the boy didn’t care that the man was old, ugly and unkempt.  All that mattered was the man had his prick out—and he was coming toward Arthur!  Disappointingly, the butler made no move to put his residue-encrusted organ inside Arthur, though the boy could smell its rank odour.  Instead, he picked Arthur up by the scruff of the neck—with no apparent difficulty, in spite of the man’s age. 

'Come on, my lad,' he said, with a ghastly smile full of pointed yellow teeth, 'let’s see you pay your respects to Mister Monday.'

He dragged Arthur over to the bath-chair, and lowered him until his head was hanging over this Mister Monday’s lap.  Arthur could now see the man was definitely naked under the robe.  Shifting restlessly, his legs parted, and the flaps of the gown fell open to uncover an engorged phallus, which was trickling clear precum.  The young man’s penis was larger than Arthur’s (which was saying almost nothing), but it was still far smaller and skinnier than any other the boy had seen.  It was a sissy-slut’s cocklet, not a man’s cock.

Up close, Arthur saw why the man was hard—he was lethargically rocking back and forth on what looked like a primitive leather dildo, apparently affixed to the seat of the chair.

'Go on,' Sneezer urged. 

Hoping he was doing the right thing, Arthur leaned down, and pressed a respectful kiss to the man’s slender shaft, lapping up some precum too, for good measure.  The man made an _unhh_ sound, and more fluid oozed out of his dainty member.

The effect on Arthur was considerably more dramatic.  Contact with a male sex organ, even one as diminutive as Mister Monday’s, combined with that tasty lick of pre-fuck-fluid, made his lust-fever flare up in full force.  It slammed into him in a fiery wave of need.  The craving was now excruciating, and the butt-plug did nothing to alleviate it.  His chest was tightening and eyes blurring.  He felt like he was being boiled alive from the inside.  Inflamed with desire, his body tensed in Sneezer’s grip, and his mouth gaped in a silent entreaty. 

‘You’re sure this one will die instantly?’ Mister Monday asked, reaching out languidly to lift Arthur’s chin.  Unlike Sneezer, Monday’s hands were clean, with long, manicured nails.  There was hardly any force in his slim fingers, but Arthur found he couldn’t move anyhow.  It was as though the man had pressed one of those paralysing nerves, like in Kung Fu movies.

Sneezer rummaged in his pocket with the hand that wasn’t holding Arthur.  He pulled out a half-dozen crumpled pieces of paper, which hung in the air as though laid on an invisible desk.  He quickly sorted through them, selected one, smoothed it out, and carefully held it against Arthur’s cheek.  The paper flashed blue, and _Arthur Penhaligon_ appeared on it in gold letters.

'It’s 'im, no doubt at all sir’, said Sneezer.  He returned the paper to his pocket, and all the others followed suit as if they were strung together on a thread.  ‘Arthur Penhaligon.  Due to shuffle off his mortal coil any moment now.’  The butler cleared his throat and swallowed.  ‘You’d best give 'im the Key, sir.’

Mister Monday, yawning, let go of Arthur’s chin.  Then he reached inside the left sleeve of his robe, and pulled out a slim metal spike.  It was shaped, Arthur thought, rather like a cock, with two circles at the base and a long, thin shaft.  The end, however, was wickedly pointed, and levelled at Arthur.

 _This is it,_ thought Arthur, with an abrupt calmness, _I’m actually going to die this time.  He’s going to stab me with that knife, and even if he doesn’t, neither of them have shown any inclination to fuck me.  I’m toast whichever way you slice it…_

Arthur couldn’t break free.  His cum-frenzy made his muscles weak as jelly, and even if he had somehow been able to escape Sneezer’s iron grip, that same frenzy would kill him anyway.

‘By the power vested in me under the arrangements entered into in the blah blah blah’, muttered Monday.  He spoke at an indecipherable speed, and didn’t slow down until he reached the last few words.  ‘And so let the Will be done.’

With that, Monday thrust the blade at Arthur.  At the same time, Sneezer let Arthur fall back onto the grass.  Monday laughed wearily and dropped the blade into Arthur’s open palm.  Straight away, Sneezer wrapped Arthur’s fingers around it tightly, making the metal bite into his skin.  Arthur cried out in pain and shock. 

And then he noticed something.  As soon as the metal dick-stick touched his skin, Arthur had the sensation of being filled, as if a well-sized prick was snuggly nestled in his anal passage, and his mouth exploded with the sweet taste of sperm.  He found his heart-rate slowing, and his breath no longer came in shuddering, moaning gasps.  Somehow, miraculously, his cock-fever had subsided.  He was still horny, of course.  Arthur was always horny.  But his libido had reduced from an all-consuming inferno to a low simmer, keeping his little cocklet comfortably chubbed, rather than painfully rigid, and his hole gently tingling, rather than blazing with need.  He no longer felt like he was going to die of lust.

‘And the other one,’ Sneezer said insistently.  ‘He must have it all, sir.’

Monday looked at his servant, some of the drowsiness disappearing from his eyes.  He started to yawn, but quashed it with an angry frown.

‘You’re very keen for the Key to leave my possession, even if only for a few minutes’, said Monday slowly.  He looked as if he’d been about to reach into his other sleeve, but now paused.  ‘And to give me boiled brandy and water.  Too much boiled brandy and water.  And inviting Noon up to my chambers…’  His frown deepened.  ‘Perhaps, in my weariness, I have not given this matter due consideration…’

‘If the Will finds you, and you have not given the Key to a suitable Heir— ‘began Sneezer, but Monday cut him off.

‘ _If_ the Will finds me,’ he mused.  ‘And what if it did?  If the reports be true, only a few lines have escaped their durance.  I wonder how much power they hold?’

‘It would be safer not to put it to the test’, said Sneezer, nervously wiping his nose on his sleeve.

‘With the complete Key in his possession, the brat could well live,’ Monday pointed out.  For the first time, he sat upright in the bath-chair, the leather phallus slipping out of his rectum, and his eyes became sharp and alert.  ‘Besides, Sneezer, it strikes me as odd that you of all my servants should have come up with this scheme.’

‘Why is that, sir?’ asked Sneezer, in an obsequious tone.  He attempted to smile ingratiatingly, but there was anxiety on his face.

‘ _Because generally you’re an idiot_!’ Monday screeched in fury.  He flicked a finger, and an invisible force struck Sneezer and Arthur, tossing them across the field like ragdolls.  ‘Whose game are you playing here, Sneezer?  You’re in league with the Morrow Days, aren’t you?  You and that Inspector, and the Will safe as ever?  Do you expect to take my position?’

‘No,’ said Sneezer.  He rose slowly to his feet and began to stride toward the bath-chair.  With each step, his voice became louder and clearer, booming into the distance like a cannon.  Trumpets sounded as he spoke.  Sharp letters of black ink formed on his skin and, dancing, joined into lines of type that rushed across the man’s face like living tattoos.

‘ **INTO THE TRUST OF MY GOOD MONDAY, I PLACE THE ADMINISTRATION OF THE LOWER HOUSE** ,’ said both the type and the thunderous voice that issued out of Sneezer’s mouth.  ‘ **UNTIL—**  ‘

Arthur blinked.  He couldn’t believe the indolent Monday was capable of such speed.  He drew a glittering object from his sleeve, which he pointed at Sneezer, shouting deafening, incomprehensible words that fell on Arthur’s ears like thunderclaps, shaking the ground with their vibrations.

There was a blinding flash, another earth-quaking shockwave and a scream—Arthur couldn’t tell whose.

When Arthur’s sight returned, Monday, Sneezer and bath-chair were all gone.  But running through the air was a shining thread of black type, the words moving too fast for Arthur to read.  They swirled above Arthur’s head, forming into a spiralling whirlwind of letters.  Something solid appeared in its midst.  It fell on Arthur’s stomach. 

It was a slim notebook, about the size of Arthur’s hand.  He picked it up and slid it into his breast pocket.  Looking up again, he saw that the lines of print were fading, slowing down long enough that he could make out the words _Monday, Heir_ and _The Will,_ before vanishing entirely.

Arthur heard a noise and looking around, saw a nurse approaching from the gym, carrying a medical kit, while Mr. Weightman was running toward him from the opposite direction.  Behind Weightman came the entirety of Arthur’s gym class.

Arthur moaned in relief and anticipation.  _Thank fuck!_   He knew Weightman would be more than happy to stuff his needy hole, and between him and the other students, Arthur’s orifices would be kept well occupied until they could get him to a hospital.  Maybe he wasn’t going to die of a nymph-fit after all.

But then Arthur remembered.  He wasn’t having a nymph-fit anymore.  It had stopped the moment he’d been given—

Arthur looked at his hand.  It was still clenched tight around the metal spike, blood dribbling out between white-knuckled fingers.  The strip of metal was sharp-edged, and heavy despite its slimness.  It was silver, and ornamented with elaborate gold inlay.  And yes, he hadn’t imagined it, it was indeed shaped like a penis.  More importantly, it was real, and so was the book in his pocket.  And therefore, Arthur reasoned, in a kind of detached horror, so too were Sneezer and Mister Monday.  It wasn’t all just a lust-induced fantasy.

There wasn’t time to think more on it.  Weightman and the nurse would be on him in a minute.  They’d take the metal prick away from him for sure.  Arthur looked around frantically, trying to think of how he could hide it.

A few paces away, a patch of the field was discoloured.  Arthur crawled over, and plunged the shaft into the soil, until only the two little testicle-circles remained, practically invisible among the tufts of grass.

As soon it left his hand, the fuck-frenzy returned with a vengeance, twice as strong as before.  Arthur wasn’t burning up anymore.  Instead, he felt ominously cold, as though the vitality was bleeding out of his body.

With the last of his strength, he rolled away from the spot where he’d buried the dick-blade, not wanting to draw attention to it. 

He hoped they wouldn’t find it. 

He hoped he’d be able to retrieve it later.

If he lived.

 


	2. Chapter 2

Arthur was still in the hospital twenty-four hours after the strange events of Monday morning.  He had spent most of that time unconscious, and still felt woolly-headed.  His arse and jaw ached something awful— the standard side-effects of Arthur's 'treatment'.  Although his amativeness had mostly returned to normal levels (normal for Arthur that is, which was still astronomically high), the doctors wanted him to stay for a few more days, ‘just to be sure’.  _Sure of getting a willing hole to fuck_ , Arthur thought, a little sourly.  Though he was kept well-stuffed while he was there, Arthur nonetheless chafed at his confinement to a hospital bed.

Arthur’s mother was a very high-profile government-employed medical researcher, so not only was his family’s health insurance top-notch, but medical professionals all over the country knew Dr. Emily Penhaligon and her work.  Arthur always received priority treatment, even ahead of other, sicker patients, and was kept in the hospital long after any danger had passed.  He mostly put that down to Emily’s standing in the medical world, though it probably didn’t hurt that the preteen’s eager cunt provided a much-appreciated sexual outlet for the male hospital staff.

Arthur’s father was a musician.  Quite a talented one too, though not particularly commercially-minded.  Twenty years ago, he’d been the lead guitarist in a famous band called ‘Earrape’, and sometimes still got recognised when they were out in public.  Back then he’d been called ‘Aural Desecration’, but had since reverted to his original name: Robert ‘Bob’ Penhaligon.  He’d gotten a lot of money from his time in Earrape, since he’d written most of the songs, some of which had hit the top of the charts.  These days, Bob looked after the kids and noodled away on one of his four pianos or eleven guitars, while Emily spent more time than she would have liked in her laboratory doing things with DNA and computers that benefited all of humanity, but took her away from her family.

Emily and Bob had seven children between them, of which Arthur was the youngest.  The eldest three: Erazmuz, a major in the army, Staria, a porn actress and Iminim, a musician like Bob, were from Bob’s liaisons with different women when he was touring with Earrape.  The fourth, Suzanne, who was at college, was from Emily’s previous marriage.  The next two were Bob and Emily’s.  Michaeli and Eric were the only ones besides Arthur still living at home, Michaeli attending a local polytechnic and Eric in his last year of high school.

Arthur was adopted.  His mother had been Emily’s lab assistant.  Neither Arthur nor his mother had the faintest idea who the father was.  She’d died in the last big influenza epidemic, right before it was halted by the new vaccine Emily’s team had developed.   Arthur had been just shy of his eighth birthday when it happened.  He’d survived the flu, but the first signs of his nymphomania had manifested at that time.  Some researchers hypothesised that his condition was a bizarre byproduct of the infection.  Arthur didn’t put much store by that.  As far as he was concerned, his cumlust was just a part of who he was.

Arthur had no close relatives aside from his mother, and the Penhaligons’ application for adoption had succeeded without difficulty.  Emily had wanted to adopt him for the sake of her departed colleague, and Bob, while initially leery, soon came around when he discovered what an avid cockhound little Arthur was. 

It didn’t bother Arthur that he was adopted.  Bob and Emily regarded him as their own son, and Arthur viewed them as his parents.  He did miss his mother though, and often reminisced about the time they’d spent together.  Like when she’d taken Arthur to his first sex club, or bought him his first pair of panties, or shown him his first porno.  His most vivid memory was when she had let him ride her then-boyfriends cock for the first time, the tumescent shaft still slick with her pussy juices.  She’d coaxed him through the pain with praise and kisses, and held him tightly through the pleasure that followed, eyes gleaming with proud tears as he’d experienced his first, mind-shattering anal orgasm.

Arthur had an album full of pictures of his mother, most cut out of adult magazines, and it was easy to see where he got his looks from.  She had been a gorgeous woman, with a short, voluptuous build, waves of curly black hair reaching to her waist, flashing dark eyes, and a sinfully inviting smile.  People who’d known her would tell Arthur that he resembled her more and more each year—these comments always made Arthur crimson with happiness.  His mother, Arthur often thought with pride, had been a whore through-and-through, and even though she was gone, her cum-guzzling spirit lived on in him.  Every dick he rode, every load he swallowed, was an act of homage to her, and sometimes, when Arthur was being screwed out of his senses, he imagined her looking down on him with an approving smile on her face, saying, _That’s my little cock-goblin._

Bob and Emily, while no substitute for his mother, were loving parents.  They cherished all their children without distinction, parentage notwithstanding.  Arthur’s relationship with his brothers, lubricated as it was by regular sex, was also excellent.  However, he was disliked by his sisters (Staria excepted), who were jealous not only of his beauty, which far outstripped theirs, but also the attention paid him by the men of the family.  They’d tried in the past to tell their mother about how the little boyslut was having his incestuous way with her husband and sons, but Emily, who doted on Arthur, wouldn’t hear a word against him.

How his sisters reacted to Arthur’s compulsive seduction of every male in sight was far from unusual.  While the boy’s uncommon loveliness incited lust in members of his own sex, in the opposite sex it provoked envy, and no little animosity.  Almost every female who laid eyes on Arthur instantly identified him as competition.  When he passed by couples in the mall or on the street, the women would quickly tug their husband or boyfriend past with a glare.  Mothers of his classmates warned their sons to stay away from him (not that they listened). Arthur was unbothered by this.  He wasn’t _competition_ — how could their wrinkled, used-up cunts possibly compete with his smooth, snug boypussy? 

The only women who seemed to like Arthur at all were those he had once heard described as ‘loose women’—prostitutes and high school sluts.  Possibly because they too were looked down on by monogamous prudes, and because they recognised him as a kindred spirit, a fellow rider of the cock carousel, they were happy to take him under-wing, and even show him a few tricks of the trade.  This affinity was reciprocated—Arthur found the women reminded him of his mother.

Emily, for her part, didn’t approve of her son’s licentiousness, nor did she disapprove of it— she was simply unaware of it.  As far as Emily Penhaligon was concerned, her youngest child’s compulsive need for intercourse was a terrible affliction.  Seeing Arthur strapped to a bed, bawling with excruciating want as he was plugged by a succession of doctors and nurses, orderlies, security guards, and even cleaners, or— when the boy had exhausted every man in the building—by the biggest dildo the hospital could find, was a traumatising experience for her.  Thus, she had resolved that the best way to manage Arthur’s condition, and avoid triggering a nymph-fit, was to keep him away from any kind of sexual stimuli.  Accordingly, porn and erotic material were banned from the Penhaligon household and Eric was prohibited from bringing girlfriends (or boyfriends) home.  Emily had even stopped sleeping with Bob, in case Arthur overheard them. 

What Dr. Penhaligon didn’t understand, was that it wasn’t sexual stimulus by itself that brought on Arthur’s episodes, but rather, stimulation without gratification.  When worked into a state of extreme arousal, Arthur _needed_ to be stuffed with large, meaty prick.  Denial of this satisfaction was enough to tip Arthur into a mindless cock-frenzy.  In short, too much teasing could literally kill the boy.  To avoid this grim fate (and also because he was a fuck-hungry whore), Arthur made it the primary business of each day to secure the two staples of his diet: cock and cum, which, fortunately for Arthur, his sex-deprived father and brother were only too willing to provide. 

 

Emily had checked on Arthur twice, each time surrounded by dozens of people in white coats, and Bob, Michaeli and Eric had come to see him that morning.  Unfortunately, with Michaeli there, he hadn’t got more than a tight hug (and surreptitious grope) from his dad and big brother.

Since all of his family in town had already visited, Arthur was surprised when two more people turned up on Tuesday afternoon—kids his age.  For a second he didn’t recognise them, since they weren’t in black.  Then it clicked.  They were the boys who had found him on the field, and gone to get help.  This time they were wearing the school uniform, the grey trousers, Arthur noted gratefully, doing nothing to conceal their impressive packages. 

‘Hiya’, said the one with long blonde hair, standing in the doorway.  ‘Can we come in?’

‘Uh, yeah, sure,’ Arthur stammered, but the boy was already sauntering over to Arthur’s bed, his brother, the one with short dark hair, trailing behind him. 

‘We didn’t meet properly yesterday’, said the blonde.  ‘I’m Dick.’

‘Dick?’ asked Arthur.  ‘As in, short for Richard?’

‘No’, said Dick, rolling his eyes and smirking, ‘As in the thing that makes babies.  Our dad’s a free love hippy, and Mum’s a sexologist.’

‘Mum calls herself "Ovum", and Dad's "Testes"’, said the other twin.  ‘Dad got to pick our names.  I’m supposed to be "Balls", but I don’t use it.  Call me Ed.’

‘Right’, said Arthur cheerfully.  ‘Dick and Balls—er, Ed.  My dad used to be called Aural Desecration.’

‘No!’ exclaimed Dick and Ed in unison.  ‘You mean from Earrape?’

‘Yeah’, Arthur replied, a little astonished.  Normally only crusty old millennials knew the names of individual band members.

‘We’re into music’, said Dick, seeing his surprise.  ‘That’s why we were wearing real clothes yesterday.   Defenestrate Your Anus were doing a lunchtime concert, and we didn’t want to look stupid.’

‘But we missed it anyway,’ said Ed.  ‘Because of you.’

Arthur was taken aback.  ‘You mean because I almost died?  Well excuse me for being such a fucking inconve—’ he started to snap, but Dick cut him off.

‘Calm your tits, bitchboy’, he said, rolling his eyes, ‘What Ed means is we missed the gig because we had something more important to do after we…well, I… saw those two weird guys with the wheelchair thing.’

‘Wheelchair thing?  Weird guys?’ Arthur repeated.  He’d convinced himself that everything he’d seen yesterday had been a product of his arousal-addled imagination, though he hadn’t been able to bring himself to test this by checking his school shirt for the notebook.  That was still hanging in the wardrobe.

‘Yeah, really fucking weird’, Dick replied.  ‘I saw them appear in a flash of light, and they disappeared in the same way, just before everyone reached you.  It was fucking bizarre, but nobody else blinked an eye.  I reckon I saw them cuz I’ve got second sight from our great-great-grandmother.  She was a Russian witch.

‘She was Russian, anyway’, Ed said.  ‘I didn’t see any of that stuff.  But when we went back later to look around, these blokes came out of the park and started saying “Go away.  Go away.”  _They_ were weird.’

‘Yeah, kind of dog-looking, with faces like fucking Rottweilers or something’, Dick broke in.  ‘Beady little eyes.  Their breath stunk, and they just kept saying “Go away.”  Had their dicks out too.  Dog-dicks, not human ones.’

‘And he’d know the difference’, Ed winked at Arthur.  ‘Dickie here’s plenty familiar with dog’s cocks.’

Dick punched Ed in _his_ cock.  ‘Fuck off, cunt.'

‘Ow, fuck!’ Ed wheezed.  Arthur winced in sympathy.  He hated seeing male sex organs get hurt.  It was ingrained into every slutty bone in his body that dongs were to be treated with reverence and care.

‘Anyway,’ said Dick, resuming the conversation, ‘The dog-dicks kept sniffing.  Sniffing the ground like actual dogs.  There were over ten of them- all wearing old-timey suits and bowler hats.  We told the office there were trespassers on the school grounds, but when the Octopus came out to check, he couldn’t see them.  Wankman was there too, and he couldn’t see them either, even though they were right in front of us.  I got a week’s detention for “being a time-wasting little shit”.’

‘I visited the Octopus later and sucked him off,’ Ed said smugly, ‘so mine got knocked down to two days.’

‘The Octopus?  And who’s Wankman?’ asked Arthur curiously, though he could guess the last one pretty well.

‘The Octopus is the Deputy Principal, Mr Boil’, Dick answered We call him that coz he likes to stick his “tentacles” up us boys’ arses -and because he confiscates all our shit.  And “Wankman’s” Weightman.  We call him that because— ‘

‘—because he’s a fucking pedo who plays with himself while he watches the boys in the gym’, Ed completed with a laugh.  ‘He even showers with us.’

‘Though I think Arthur knows all about what a perv _he_ is,’ Dick added knowingly.

Arthur blushed, remembering those coarse, probing fingers, fingers that had nearly killed him, as it turned out.

‘So, Arthur,’ said Dick, ‘what’s going on?  Who were those two guys?’

‘I—I don’t know’, Arthur said honestly.  ‘I thought it was a hallucination.’

‘Maybe it was,’ Ed offered.  ‘Only you both had it.’

Dick punched him in the crotch again, hard.  Arthur really hoped the boy’s penis wasn’t damaged.  He had plans for that penis.

‘Of course, that doesn’t explain why the Octopus and Wankman couldn’t see the guys in the bowler hats,’ Ed continued quickly, massaging his groin with a pained expression, and shooting a glare at Dick.  ‘Unless the three of us, I dunno, accidentally inhaled weed or some shit.’

‘If it wasn’t a hallucination,’ Arthur said carefully, ‘then there’ll be a small notebook in the pocket of my school shirt.  Hanging up in the wardrobe.’

Dick went over to the wardrobe and opened it.  He hesitated for a moment, and then reached in.  After a second, he withdrew his hand.  In it was the notebook.

‘It feels strange,’ he said in a hushed voice.  ‘Tingly.  Like it’s got static on it.  Maybe from rubbing on the shirt?’

‘What’s it say on the cover?’ Ed asked.

‘I don’t know,’ replied Dick, ‘I can’t read the words.’  There were symbols on the cover, but he couldn’t decipher them.  It was as if he couldn’t focus on them, somehow.  He felt like he should give the book to Arthur.  ‘Here, it’s yours’, Dick said, handing it to him.

‘Actually, it kinda fell out of the sky…’ Arthur said, trailing off as he took the notebook and looked at it.  It was hardcovered, and bound in green cloth.  Embossed on the front cover was golden type that rearranged itself under Arthur’s eyes.  The letters shifted and tumbled over themselves to form words.

‘ _A Compleat Atlas of the House and Immediate Environs_ ’, Arthur read aloud.  ‘The letters all rearranged themselves to spell it out.’

‘Hi-tech?’, Ed suggested tentatively.

‘Magic’, said Dick firmly.  ‘Open it, Arthur.’

Arthur tried, but the book’s covers wouldn’t budge, no matter how much force he applied (which, admittedly, wasn’t a lot, the willowy 12-year-old not possessing much in the way of upper body strength).  It was like they were welded shut.

‘Let’s leave it for now’, he panted, putting the book to one side, and throwing back the covers to try and cool down.  The slightest physical exertion made the girlyboy dreadfully overheated.  It was one of the reasons (other than the obvious) why he wore as few clothes as possible. 

Arranging his blue plastic gown so the twins could see the hospital-issued dildo in his rectum, he asked if either of the boys had seen the dog-men find anything.

‘Um, like what?’ said Ed.

‘A piece of metal.’  Arthur elaborated.  ‘Silver, with gold decorations.  Shaped like a long, thin, pointy cock.’

The brothers shook their heads.

‘We didn’t see them find anything’, said Dick.  ‘The…uh the dog-faces were gone this morning.  But the whole oval had been dug up, and the turf replaced.  I can’t believe they did it overnight.’

‘The whole oval?’ asked Arthur incredulously.  Why would they do that?  He’d buried the cock-rod somewhere in the middle.  Surely they’d stop digging once they found it?

‘That’s right, the whole oval’, Dick confirmed.  ‘They, um…’  But then he fell silent, red-faced and breathing heavily.

Throughout this entire portion of the conversation, Dick and Ed had become increasingly distracted.  They were gawping at the spot between Arthur’s thighs.

Arthur smirked. 

‘Know why I’ve got this in me?’ he questioned coyly, spreading his legs, and stroking the lips of his hole where they were stretched around the moulded rubber.

They shook their heads again.

 

Arthur told the boys about his nymphomania, explaining that his collapse on the field hadn’t been the result of any ordinary seizure.  By the time he’d finished, their eyes were almost bulging out of their sockets.

‘Fuuuuck, if I’d known…’ whistled Ed, eying the end of the dildo that was sticking out Arthur’s anal cavity.

‘Um, you still could, if you wanted…’ Arthur offered with faux shyness (acting timid and reluctant always seemed to make men want him even more).  ‘Y’know, as a reward for saving me and everything...’

The twins’ eyes went, if possible, even wider, before their faces split into identical grins. 

‘Hell yes!’ Dick shouted, while Ed eagerly squirmed out of his trousers.  Before long, the synthetic cock lay discarded on the floor, as Arthur had his throat stuffed with Ed’s juicy boymeat, and Dick dicked the nymphboy’s hungry hole with abandon. 

Arthur had taken two loads apiece, and Ed, who’d switched places with Dick, was just working up to a third, when a male nurse walked in.  The man grinned internally, his prick swelling at the sight of the randy preadolescent threesome, but he put on a stern expression. 

‘All right you two,’ he said, ‘visiting time’s over.  We can’t get Master Penisha— I mean, Penhaligon—overexcited, or he’ll end up having another fit.’  The brothers removed their boyhoods reluctantly, Dick bending down to claim Arthur’s mouth in a wet, forceful kiss, before shimmying back into his uniform.

‘We’ll come back later Arthur!’ Ed called over his shoulder as they left.

‘Tomorrow’, the nurse said, in a tone that brooked no argument.  The man, who was called Nurse Thomas, turned to retrieve Arthur’s hospital gown from where it had been tossed on the floor, laying it on the bedside table along with the dildo.

‘You know I don’t like being called Master’, Arthur pouted at him reproachfully, ‘I’m a bottom bitch.  I need _you_ to be the Master.’

‘Okay, sorry Arthur’, chuckled Nurse Thomas, who was well-acquainted with the boy’s submissive nature, ‘I’ve been on the children’s ward all day.’

‘Oh?’ the boy inquired with a lascivious smile, ‘Were any of them as pretty as me?’

That earned him a sharp slap, making him yelp, while the nurse efficiently turned him on his stomach.

‘You behave,’ the man said, ‘or when I’m done you’ll get nowt up you but yon rubber willie.’

Arthur made a face, but quieted while the nurse swabbed his left arse-cheek, and prepared a syringe.  Normally Arthur enjoyed teasing his nurses, but this time he barely paid the man any heed, his mind going over everything he’d discussed with Dick and Ed. 

Mister Monday and Sneezer.  Who could they possibly be?  From what they’d said, the silver phallus was part of some Key, which Mister Monday had given to Arthur in the expectation that the boy would die, after which he’d take it back.  Sneezer had arranged the plan, but he’d been double-crossing Monday, or something.  At the end, Sneezer was in the grip of some other power, Arthur was sure of it.  Those glowing words—the ones that had given him the book, which he couldn’t open.

Arthur had taken the cock-Key, and he hadn’t died.  Did that mean he still owned it?  The dog-dicked men likely worked for Mister Monday.  If they’d dug up the field, then they’d have definitely found the Key, and had probably taken it back to him by now.  Perhaps that would be the end of the whole affair…

 

But, somehow, Arthur didn’t think so.  He felt, with a deep, gut-level certainty, that this—whatever _this_ was—was only beginning.  He’d been given the Key and the Atlas for a reason, and he meant to find it out.  After slutty submissiveness, Arthur’s strongest trait was curiosity.  It had gotten him into a few bad scrapes, and more than a few great fucks.  However this mystery unwound, Arthur was going to get to the bottom of it.

 _And I’ll start by getting the Key back,_ he thought with an uncharacteristic ferocity.  He pushed his hands under his pillow as the needle pricked his backside.

Then Arthur flinched. 

‘Won’t take long, lad’, the nurse soothed, ‘Just hold still, there’s a good babyslut.’

But it wasn’t the injection that made him start.  Under the pillow, cold against Arthur’s fingers, was a thin rod of metal.  The Key.  It hadn’t been there a few minutes before.  Arthur always put his hands under the pillow when he lay down.  Maybe it appeared when Dick gave him the Atlas?  Like those magical items in stories, that always returned to their owners. 

In the stories…  In the stories, objects like that were often cursed—you couldn’t get rid of them even if you wanted.  Arthur shivered again, and then lay still.

 

As a reward for the preteen’s compliance, Nurse Thomas gave Arthur a thorough buttfucking.  After his release, he worked the dildo in and out of Arthur’s sloppy hole, until the boy arched his back and sprayed his stomach, chest and face with pearly cum.  Then the man went on his rounds, whistling a jaunty tune, leaving the toy lodged in the (for now) sated cumslut. 

The Key remained under Arthur’s pillow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the lack of proper (i.e. detailed explicit) sex scenes. This will be rectified in the next chapter, I promise ;)


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Be warned: this chapter has all the sex scenes (proper ones, that is).

Arthur was released from hospital on Friday afternoon.  Dick and Ed hadn’t come back to see him.  Arthur didn’t have their phone numbers, or their last name, so he couldn’t find them on social media.  The hospital had become increasingly busy throughout the week, and the nurses were stressed, having less time to tend to Arthur’s ‘particular’ needs.

His father picked him up.  As they drove home, Arthur gazed out the window, thinking about all that had happened that week; about Mister Monday and Sneezer, and about the Key and the Atlas, which were securely wrapped in a pair of lacy knickers and stowed at the bottom of his bag.

When they were nearly home, he saw something that abruptly ended his musings.  Down in the valley ahead of them was a massive, ancient-looking house.  The vast building, which took up a whole block, was built from stone, uneven bricks, and oddly-shaped timbers of different colours.  It looked to have been added to and built on without any apparent care or planning, utilising an enormous variety of architectural styles from diverse eras and cultures.  It had arches, aqueducts and apses; bartizans, belfries and buttresses; chimneys, crenellations and cupolas, galleries and gargoyles; pillars and portcullises; terraces and turrets.

It looked completely out of place, dropped into the middle of what was otherwise a modern suburb.  And no wonder, Arthur thought.  The wacky house hadn’t been there when he left for school last Monday.

He placed a hand on his dad’s thigh.  ‘Daddy, what is that?’ he asked, pointing.

‘What’s what, baby-boy?’ said Bob, glancing where Arthur was indicating.

‘That place!  It’s ginormous, and I’m sure it wasn’t there on Monday!’

‘Where?’ Bob scanned the houses through his windscreen.  ‘They all look the same to me, honeybum.  Size-wise, that is.  Oh, I think that one with the truck out front got a new fence put in.  Maybe that’s why it looks different.’  He smiled at Arthur, and then turned his attention back to the road.

Arthur nodded dumbly.  Clearly his dad couldn’t see the huge, castle-like building they were driving towards.  He could only see the houses that used to be there.

 _Or maybe they still are there, and I’m seeing into an alternate dimension, or something,_ Arthur thought.  He would have assumed the hospital had messed up his medication, but he had the Key and the Atlas, and then there was his conversation with Dick and Ed.  More than likely this house—or House, as Arthur instinctively felt it should be called—was related to everything that had happened.

As they got closer, Arthur saw the building had a ten-foot high wall around it.  It was faced with smooth marble, and looked nigh impossible to climb.  He saw no sign of a gate.

 

Arthur’s own home was only another mile or so, on the far side of the hills that bordered the valley.  It was at the outskirts of the city, beyond the suburbs, but not quite in the countryside proper.  The Penhaligons had a large property, most of which was wooded, the rest sustaining the wild, tangled thicket of weeds and brambles that Bob affectionately dubbed ‘his garden’.  The house itself was brand-new, finished only a few months before, and ultra-modern, having been designed by a famous architect.  It was split-level, each storey cut into the hillside, like a set of steps.  The bottom level was the largest, with two garages, a workshop, Bob’s studio and Emily’s office.  The next level was all living rooms, kitchen and three dining rooms of varying impressiveness.  The next contained the master bedroom and multiple guest rooms.  Finally, the highest, and smallest level, contained Arthur, Michaeli and Eric’s bedrooms, along with two bathrooms, one of which Michaeli had claimed as her personal ensuite.  Fortunately, Arthur enjoyed showering with his big brother. 

When they got in the door, their home’s AI, Stevens, greeted them and relayed the latest updates from the other family members.  Emily was held up at the lab, Michaeli was simply ‘out’ and would be back ‘later’, and Eric had a basketball game.

Arthur was in a clingy mood, needing a familiar touch after spending days being handled by strangers.  So, after telling Stevens to order pizza later, Bob carried him to his studio, and sat down.  He held the young preteen in his lap and cuddled him, smothering his face, neck and chest with warm, comforting kisses.  After a while, he gently pushed the boy onto the floor between his legs.

Arthur knew the drill.  He quickly got on his knees, while his dad extracted his cock from his jeans.  Arthur dove in, tenderly nuzzling the as-yet quiescent organ and peppering wet, open-mouthed kisses along its rapidly stiffening length.  The prepubescent cockwhore continued to worship his dad’s baby-maker, all the while huffing the musky fragrance like a paint-sniffer, until the member stood fully erect—a respectable six and a half inches long, and thick as a can of coke.  Then Arthur really got to work, enveloping the bulbous head in the wet heat of his mouth, and sliding his full lips up and down, leaving the stout shaft glistening with saliva.  He progressively took more and more of the appendage down his throat, massaging the veiny flesh with his dexterous tongue, all the while his dad groaned and told him what a good boy, what a perfect, slutty little son he was.  Eventually Bob’s moans grew louder, and he began to thrust upward to meet Arthur’s bobbing throatcunt until, jamming his fuckstick all the way in, he came with a rumbling cry.  Arthur felt the first few volleys hit the back of his gullet, before he pulled back to take the rest of his dad’s load on his tongue, where he could savour its salty-sweet taste.

Bob must have really wanted to work on his songs, because when Arthur finished swallowing—pulling off the broad shaft with a wet _pop_ , and diligently lapping up any residual traces of man-juice—the man sent him off with a loving, but perfunctory, slap to the cheek.  Not even a proper spanking, much less an arse-ramming.  Frustrated, Arthur thought about being a brat to get his dad’s attention, maybe spilling soft-drink on his keyboard or something.  That ought to earn him a good beating. 

Arthur loved it when men hit him.  It was the next best thing to being fucked.  It wasn’t the pain, per se, that got him going.  It was the dominance.  Arthur loved how much stronger than him men and older boys were.  He loved how, when they were breeding him, they could do literally anything they wanted.  He loved the feeling of being completely at their mercy.  A man who wasn’t afraid to give Arthur a few slaps, pinches and punches before, during and after sex, was the cumslut’s ideal partner.  Each blow, or bite, sent waves of pleasure shooting through his body, and brought him that much closer to orgasm. 

Sometimes, even that wasn’t enough.  If Arthur had been a particularly dirty whore that day, maybe getting railed by an exceptionally high number of men, or doing something especially filthy and debauched, he felt a restless need, thrumming deep in his bones.  It was different from a nymph-fit, which was just a mindless thirst for cock/cum.  It was a craving to be _fucked up_.  He needed to be grabbed.  Tossed around.  Spit on.  Bashed—until he was sobbing, his skin a patchwork of bruises. 

Then, thrown on the ground, or against a wall, and viciously pounded—dry—with a hand clamped around his throat, until he was slipping in and out of consciousness.  Only after, when he was drained and limp as a rung-out dishcloth, his body one dull ache, could he be kissed, caressed and cuddled, and told what a perfect little slut he was. 

Later still, when he was masturbating (which was pretty much anytime he wasn’t sucking or riding dick), he would dig his fingers into his bruises, and the flaring pain would make him shoot so hard he could see stars. 

Arthur didn’t know why roughness and violence turned him on so much.  He did know that, by society’s standards, it was messed up (not that anything about Arthur wasn’t), but he couldn’t help it.  He guessed he was just wired differently.  Unfortunately, it wasn’t every man who could (or would) hurt Arthur in the way he wanted.  Even at home, his dad was usually too tired, or too busy, and Eric’s drubbings felt half-hearted at best.  The best at it was Erazmuz, the eldest of the Penhaligon children, who was a major in the army, and had moved out before Arthur was adopted. 

 

# ☞⦾☜

 

Arthur still remembered the first time Erazmuz came home on leave.  The preteen had stood in the hall, staring lustfully at the young soldier’s handsome square-jawed face, muscular broad-shouldered physique, and the positively obscene bulge in his military fatigues.  Erazmuz, on the other hand, had barely given his adopted brother more than a glance. 

But that night, Arthur heard heavy footsteps outside his door.

The door had swung open—Erazmuz was just standing there, filling the entrance with his looming silhouette.  The only sounds were the man’s breathing, and Arthur’s increasingly desperate whimpers.   Arthur knew there was only one reason why Erazmuz would be visiting his youngest sibling’s room in the middle of the night.  He caught a whiff of heady, masculine scent and moaned aloud.  Being this close to the hunky soldier made his entire body tingle with arousal and anticipation.  He needed that military meat inside him!  He tossed and panted on the bed, throwing off the sheets to expose his lithe, feminine body (Arthur always slept nude).  Erazmuz made no response to his little brother’s wordless appeals, though his exhales came quicker, and harsher.  Finally, Arthur, unable to bear it any longer, let out a soft, pleading whine:

 ‘Eraaaazmuuuuz.’ 

As if this was the signal he was waiting for, Erazmuz had pounced with a pleased-sounding noise, raising his arm to brutally back-hand the younger boy across the mouth, sending Arthur’s head ricocheting off the headboard with an audible _crack_.  Stunned, Arthur could only lay prone, and stare, slack-jawed and cross-eyed, as his brother reached into his boxers to expose his erection. 

And what an erection!  Arthur was no stranger to large cocks, but Erazmuz’ mighty man-meat was on a different plane of existence from any schlong he’d encountered before.  Jutting out near-horizontally from between two trunk-like thighs, the colossal phallus, which had to be at least ten inches long, and was thicker around than Arthur’s arm, throbbed menacingly in the dim light from the passage. 

As he had gazed at that near-foot of rigid muscle, its veins coursing angrily with blood, Arthur knew two things: first, he wanted that dick more than he’d wanted anything in his life.  Second, being filled with his brother’s cock was going to hurt like hell, possibly even worse than the awful emptiness he felt during nymph-frenzies.  His flawless hole would be wrecked, perhaps forever.

But Arthur found he didn’t really care about pain, or potential injury.

Which was a good thing,as it turned out, since neither did Erazmuz.

 

Climbing onto the bed, which creaked under his weight, the man brushed the engorged purple glans over Arthur’s pert pink nipples.  Then, shifting forward to straddle Arthur’s stomach, he waggled his fleshy python in front the boy’s face, observing, with a contemptuous sneer, how the twelve-year-old cock-addict’s eyes tracked its swaying back-and-forth movement.  _Thwack, thwack!_ Erazmuz walloped Arthur once, twice, across the face with his prodigious manhood.  Next Erazmuz rubbed his virile shaft all over the bitchboy’s smooth skin, coating Arthur with his scent, before placing the swollen tip on the child’s perfect bow lips.

Forgetting his pain, Arthur hummed excitedly, opening his mouth to receive the titanic member.  But Erazmuz only sneered again, pulling away.  Arthur keened in disappointment, and got another casual smack from Erazmuz’ hand.  Sitting back on his haunches, the man unceremoniously flipped Arthur over, as he prepared to split the nymphomaniacal nancyboy’s arse in two.

‘Wait—lube!’ Arthur had tried to pant, but Erazmuz had ignored him, pushing his head down into the pillow. 

Arthur felt the tennis ball-sized head rest against his tiny, trembling boypussy.   For one, brief moment, the world stood still. 

 

Now, dear reader, when introducing a small boy’s delicate anus to a grown-up prick, it is best practice to proceed in increments, sliding in inch by slow inch, giving the child’s overstretched colon time to adjust, all the while peppering his shoulders with soft kisses, and whispering soothing nonsense in his ear.

 

I’m afraid Erazmuz did none of those things.

With one hand on the boy’s neck, pinning him down, the other firmly clasping Arthur’s waist, the soldier gritted his teeth, swung back his hips, and

_Thrust._

_In._

In one forceful motion, Erazmuz sheathed his manhood, all ten inches, inside the tightest cunt he’d ever felt, a clutching heat so close-fitting, it took all his willpower, instilled through years of drill, not to bust his nut right then.  He groaned rapturously, feeling the warm mounds of the preteen’s boybutt snug against his groin.

And Arthur?  The poor slut-child screamed, out of his mind with agony.  A scream so loud, and so shrill, that it would surely have woken everyone in the house, had it not been muffled by the pillow.  But Erazmuz heard the scream.  Felt it, vibrating through the slight form beneath him, and sending tremors through his dick.  And do you know, dear reader, when Arthur screamed that scream of incomprehensible anguish, the young man’s turgid ten-inch flesh cudgel _jumped_ where it was nestled, deep in Arthur’s bowels.

 

Then, the anal destruction of Arthur Penishankering began. 

Grunting, Erazmuz ripped his fat poker back out through the traumatised colon, until the flared mushroom-head caught on the rim of the boy’s pussy.  Then he pushed back in, pulled out and shoved back in again, picking up speed as he went, until Arthur’s hole was on fire from the friction.

The boy could feel the thick pillar of burning flesh tearing up his insides. 

Arthur wasn’t just being fucked—he was being _ravished_!

 

Fisting one hand in Arthur’s hair, Erazmuz jerked the preteen’s head up, wrenching it back at a painful angle as he ploughed away, but allowing Arthur, who was close to passing out, to get his first proper breath in ages.  Still the man pounded, on, and on.  The intense discomfort never went away, but minute by minute, thrust by thrust, many of which (by accident, not design) hit Arthur’s prostate, the pain was overwhelmed by blinding, toe-curling _pleasure._

The boy tried to verbalise the sensations flooding through him, something most of his lovers appreciated.  But he found that, with Erazmuz, speaking, or even moaning too loudly, gained Arthur a vicious open-handed slap to the side of the face, or a jab to the ribs.

_Grunt—thrust, grunt—thrust._

Arthur could tell Erazmuz was close by how his deep growls at last gave way to words—low, strained epithets of ‘ _little faggot_ ’, ‘ _cumslut_ ’, ‘ _filthy fucking whore_ ’, and ‘ _disgusting little cunt_ ’— snarled at Arthur in tandem with angry thrusts. 

They were accusations, not endearments.  Arthur sensed how furious it made Erazmuz that he, the disciplined soldier, was helpless to resist his prancing little bitch of a brother.  This thought filled Arthur with secret glee, and made him clench the tattered shreds of his hole around his brother’s colossal fuckclub— until Erazmuz was cumming with a roar, gripping Arthur’s hips with bruising tightness, and shoving into him so deep, Arthur was surprised there wasn’t jizz spurting out of his mouth.  Arthur came as well, his dicklet twitching madly.  Erazmuz stayed there for a good five minutes, his gargantuan prick embedded to the hilt and pulsating, as he flooded Arthur’s guts with a veritable ocean of seed.  Then, with a final heavy grunt, he pulled out abruptly.  Delivering a parting cuff to the back of Arthur’s head, he stalked out of the room, leaving the bedsheets stained with cum (and a little blood) and the boy himself a quivering, ruined mess.

Arthur supposed, on reflection, that Erazmuz’ ferocity was a way of releasing all the pent-up aggression that came with the strict barracks regime.  At any rate, when the family had sat down to breakfast the following morning (Emily made sure they all ate together when one of the older ones was home), Arthur’s face, arms and chest—he had worn his most revealing singlet for the occasion—were a motley black-and-blue, speckled with angry red welts.  Emily looked horrified, but Arthur had cheerily explained that he fell out of bed. 

‘More like fell down the stairs, by the looks of it’, Bob quipped awkwardly, seeming rather uncomfortable at how far Erazmuz had gone.  Eric, who’d no doubt been watching (and wanking) along via the camera in Arthur’s room, appeared slightly wistful.  Suzanne and Michaeli looked disgusted, as they invariably were at Arthur’s escapades with their male family members ( _Jealous bitches_ , Arthur thought carelessly).  Erazmuz had just silently munched his toast, wearing a self-satisfied smirk, while Arthur gazed at him adoringly from across the table.  And Emily, poor, innocent, oblivious Emily, had asked no more about it, only making Arthur promise to apply one or other of the innumerable ointments that she kept in her cavernous medicine cupboard (of course, Arthur did no such thing).  For a hyper-intelligent Medical Legend, Arthur often thought fondly, his mother could be blindingly imperceptive. 

Erazmuz’ visits home became a lot more frequent after that, and even though he remained absolutely brutal in bed, not giving the boyslut so much as a peck on the lips, Arthur liked to think the young man had become rather attached to him.  Possessive even, judging by how Erazmuz wouldn’t let Bob or Eric lay a finger on Arthur while he was home.

 

# ☞⦾☜

 

Arthur came out of his reverie with a soft sigh and an aching cocklet.  He briefly contemplated his dad, plinking away on a keyboard, before turning, and climbing the stairs to his bedroom.  For all that he was sometimes inattentive to Arthur’s needs, Arthur loved his dad (and fat daddy-dick and hairy balls).  If the man really wasn’t in the mood, Arthur supposed he would have to pleasure himself.

Arthur told his door to lock in case Michaeli came home (it would let in Eric in, if the older teen wanted to give his little brother a ‘welcome-home’ present). 

At the foot of Arthur’s bed was a life-sized ceramic Komodo dragon.  It was quite realistic, especially since Eric had superglued a dildo to the reptile’s groin.  Arthur liked to crawl under its belly, and fuck himself on the toy, imagining he was being taken by some ferocious monster.  This time, the horny preteen made especially lewd noises, in case his dad was watching through the house’s security system.

After he’d finished, he cleaned up the carpet and the toy (with his tongue, naturally), and then got out the Atlas and the Key, laying them on the bed.  Without really knowing why, he gestured to turn off the light.  The room was dark, save for a wan sliver of moonlight that came through the open window.  Then, both the Key and the Atlas started to emit a strange blue glow that shimmered like water.  Arthur picked up the Key in his left hand, and the Atlas in his right. 

Without Arthur doing anything, the Atlas flipped open.  Startled, Arthur dropped it on the bed.  It remained open, and Arthur watched in amazement as it grew, becoming longer and wider, until it was about the same size as his pillow.

At first the pages were blank, but then lines began to appear, as if drawn by an invisible artist.  They spread across the page, swift and precise, until Arthur was looking at a picture of the House he had seen on the way home.  It might have been a photo, it was so well-realised.

Under the picture, a handwritten note appeared:

 _**The House: An Exterior Aspect as Manifested in Many Secondary Realms** _  

Then, more words, in smaller handwriting.  Arthur squinted as another note materialised, with an arrow pointing to an inked-in rectangle on the outer wall.  _Monday Postern,_ it read.

‘Stevens,’ Arthur said aloud, ‘what’s a postern?’

The omnipresent AI responded at once, ‘Poster, noun: a large printed picture used for decoration.’

‘Stevens, you utter fuckwit!’ Arthur swore in annoyance.  ‘What is a _postern?_ P–O–S–T–E–R–N.’

‘Postern, noun: 1. A back door or gate; 2. Any lesser or private entrance’, Stevens supplied, more helpfully this time.

Ah!  So that was how you got in.  Arthur put the Key down on the bed, and then jumped.  As soon as the Key left his hand, the Atlas slammed shut.  In only a second, it had shrunk back to the size of a pocket notebook.

_So you need to have the Key to open the Atlas.  Interesting._

 

Arthur lay down, and put his head in his hands.  The Atlas had shown him the picture of the House, and marked out an entrance.  That seemed like an invitation.  Someone…or something…wanted him to enter the House.  But was the Atlas to be trusted?  Arthur knew so little about what was going on here.  Monday and Sneezer were enemies, that much seemed clear.  But then, was it really Sneezer who was Monday’s enemy, or that whirling type, those words which had taken over Sneezer and given the Atlas to Arthur?  In a way, they’d given him the Key too, or at least tricked Mister Monday into doing so.  But what was their— _its—_ purpose?

There was only one way to learn more.  Arthur would have to take a look at the House, tomorrow or Sunday, and try to get in through Monday’s Postern.  Depending on what he saw there, he’d let Ed and Dick know, and maybe enlist their help.  They’d seen the dog-faced guys when the teachers couldn’t, so they’d probably be able to see the House.

In the meantime, Arthur hid the Atlas and the Key in the hollow stomach of the Komodo dragon.  The dragon’s mouth was only just open enough for Arthur to slip his hands inside, so anyone with hands larger than a 12-year-old’s wouldn’t be able to get at the objects.  Soon after, Stevens informed Arthur that his mum was home.  Emily insisted that Arthur emerge from his room, and Bob from his studio, so they could have dinner together—a dinner that turned out to be substantially healthier, and less appetising, than pizza.

Emily was relaxed and cheerful, not only because Arthur was okay, but because, for the first time in ages, she wasn’t working frenetically to research a cure for some new disease.  Winter was coming, but looked to be a fairly quiet one in terms of sickness.

Arthur’s plans to investigate the House were quickly dashed, however, when his mother categorically forbade him from setting foot outside.  ‘You have to rest Arthur’, she instructed.  ‘At least for the weekend.  No going out, and no having friends over.  We’ll review the situation next week.’  By ‘friends’ she meant the boys Arthur frequently invited back to his house.  Emily was glad her son had an active social life (if only she’d known how active!), though she did wonder why his bedroom door was always shut when his friends were visiting.  Still, she didn’t pry—kids needed their privacy, after all.

Arthur pouted, though he knew better than to argue with Emily when it came to his health.  It wasn’t as though he could sneak out— Stevens monitored everything.   He was going to go crazy, shut up indoors and thinking about the House all weekend.  He couldn’t even distract himself with porn, or a good VR gang-rape, since his mother had blocked anything of the kind from being accessed in the Penhaligon home.  ‘For Arthur’s sake’, she had said at the time.  ‘We can’t risk setting off his condition.’

Arthur wished she hadn’t bothered.  He loved his mum, but wouldn’t mind if she was a little less zealous about his wellbeing.

 

# ☞⦾☜

 

The weekend was a total drag, just as Arthur had feared.

Michaeli was busy with her usual mysterious activities and Eric would barge into Arthur’s room early in the mornings, blow a hasty load down the throat of the still-drowsy preteen, and then vanish for the rest of the day.  Emily’s work lull hadn’t lasted long.  There was an influx of patients exhibiting strange symptoms, and she was called in to examine them.  Bob had apparently had a spark of inspiration, as he spent the entire weekend holed up in his studio, so there was nothing doing there.  Arthur knew not even sex could divert his father when the man was in the grip of his muse. 

Come Sunday night, Arthur was bored and horny.  He’d fucked himself on the dildo five times, and jacked off an additional eight.  Eric had demanded another blowjob that evening, but had been too tired from sports practice for anything more, falling asleep as soon as he’d shot his wad.

Arthur tossed and turned, unable to sleep.  He tried, fruitlessly, to search for explicit content in creative ways, so as to bypass the censor.  He got the Atlas out again, to see if he could get it to draw porn, but it wouldn’t show anything but that same image of the House, so he returned it and the Key to the Komodo dragon’s belly.  He jammed his fingers into his arse, and thought about the House, and what was inside it, and whether Sneezer fucked Mister Monday, and whether Ed had really been joking about Dick’s acquaintance with dog peen…

 

When he did finally drift off, it wasn’t for long.  Something made him wake up—he wasn’t sure what.  ‘Time’, he whispered into the darkness, and glowing green numerals appeared in the air above his bed:  _12:01_

One minute after midnight, on Monday morning.

There was a noise at his window.  A scratching, like the scraping of a tree branch.  But there was no tree in the garden tall or near enough to reach Arthur’s bedroom window.

He sat up, and waved the light on.  His heart pounded.

 _Control,_ thought Arthur desperately.  _Calm.  Breathe slowly._

_Look at the window._

He looked, and leapt back, falling off the bed.  Hovering in the air outside the window, easily fifty feet above the ground, was a winged man.  He was no angel.  His wings were a dirty grey, and looked bedraggled.  He wore an old-fashioned suit, and held a black bowler hat in one hand.  His face was hideous—squat and jowly.  _A dog’s face,_ Arthur thought in horror.

The man tapped on the window.

‘Let me in.’

The voice was distorted through the glass, but it was low and husky and full of menace.

‘Let me in.’

‘No’, Arthur croaked.  That was how it worked didn’t it?  The monster couldn’t come inside unless you invited it.  Or was that just vampires…  Vampires!  In the movies they sometimes hypnotised someone to let them in—

Arthur saw a movement out of the corner of his eye.  Arthur jerked his head around, his heart stopping.  Was that someone coming into his room?  Had someone been hypnotised already?  Oh God, they would let the dog-faced man in…

 

It was the Komodo dragon from the foot of his bed.  It was moving.

Arthur scrambled back onto the bed, and pressed himself against the wall, shaking with fright.  As if one monster wasn’t enough to deal with!

‘Let me in.’

The large reptile hissed, long, forked tongue darting through the air.  It dashed forward on stubby legs, rearing up in front of the window.  It opened its mouth and a beam of brilliant white light shot out, strong as a searchlight.  The dog-man-thing screamed and flailed his arms.  His bowler hat went flying, and his wings thrashed as he hurtled backwards.  He disappeared in a puff of coal-black smoke.

The dragon shut its mouth with a snap, and the light went out.  Then, it ponderously trod back to Arthur’s bed, and stared up at him, unblinking. 

‘Good boy…’ Arthur breathed.  The lizard opened its mouth in what would have been a grin, if ceramic Komodo dragons could grin, and clawed its way onto the bed, advancing on the boy with a predatory glint in its eyes.  He was a little apprehensive about being mounted by the big reptile, but it wasn’t as though he hadn’t shagged it before (though admittedly, it hadn’t been _alive_ then).  Anyhow, it was no less than the creature deserved for saving him from the dog-man.  So, the preteen cumwhore took a deep breath, steeled his nerves, and opened his legs. 

The dragon’s long, forked tongue flicked out of its mouth again, running over Arthur’s body, and making the boy shiver.  It brushed his miniature member, caressed his tiny, hairless bollocks, and then darted down to jab into his pink boy-cleft.  The childslut squealed in delight.

The beast continued to move forward, tonguing Arthur’s nipples, and covering the small boy with its 8-foot-long body.  Arthur reached out to feel its skin.  Surprisingly, its scaly torso was warm to the touch, though dry as paper and unyieldingly solid.  He felt something poke his thigh and gasped.  It too was warm, scaly and hard.  It seemed the plastic dildo had transformed into a very real, and very erect, reptilian dong.

Arthur knew what came next, and turned his head to the pillow to muffle his cry of elation as the creature plunged into his tight opening.  The beast mated him long and slow, ridged cock scraping the walls of Arthur’s colon with every thrust, producing the strangest sensation of mingled pain and pleasure.  Its warm bulk weighed down on the boy, making him feel owned, and safe.  It didn’t climax for a good half-hour, and stayed buried in Arthur for a further ten minutes after that, licking the sweat droplets and tears from his face with its sinuous tongue.

Finally, the Komodo dragon retreated to the foot of his bed, where it rippled once, and returned to inanimation.

Arthur slept soundly until the morning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I realise my description of reptile anatomy was inaccurate, but there’s no way poor Arthur (or my prose) could cope with accurate lizard genitalia (look up ‘hemipenes’ if you don’t believe me). Also, magic.


End file.
